Desire Series (Submissive Romance) Complete Collection

by Lucia Jordan

  **

  Christmas Day dawned bright and clear. It had snowed again in the night but lightly. Sandra went to her tiny tree and stared down at the paltry presents arranged around it. Loneliness settled into her very bones and she shivered with a cold that had nothing to do with the temperature.

  She made strong coffee laced liberally with sugar and cream and wandered back into the living room. The first present she opened came from her father, a practical and warm scarf and mitten set bundled on top of a sampler of teas. It was his usual gift and she smiled at it.

  The visit from her mother came back to her and it felt surreal and hazy, like a vivid dream or hallucination. Raine’s words had hurt because Sandra knew her father was not a man of many emotions, he was not a man who thought much of risk taking either. Love, to him, was a biological function. He had told her that when she was a teenager and certain she was going to die if a boy she liked rejected her.

  She reached for the box Connor had left for her. The box’s surface was smooth, the ribbon tied in a precise way that let her know it was a pro wrapping job. She took her time opening it, pulling the ribbon out of its folds, delaying the gratification she was sure she would find within the box. She lifted the lid, layers of tissue paper-red with small gold flecks, covered the present.

  The tissue paper inside the box crumpled under her fingers. It parted to reveal a gorgeous coat, a red collarless Gucci creation that made tears swell into her eyes. The coat was not what made her cry though; it was the train ticket to Maine below it and the note, which read…

  Maine gets very cold. I hope to see you here, the fire will be roaring. My house is named the Ariel; any taxi driver will know which one it is.

  Sandra sat there, staring at the ticket and the coat. Outside the snow got deeper, fell harder and she wondered if the trains would even be able to run. She checked the weather channel and discovered that the tracks were open.

  She could go, take the chance and get on that train. Alternatively, she could sit right there in her warm and cozy house sipping tea and watching Christmas shows.

  Whose daughter am I really? My father’s or my mother’s? Mother would do anything for love, no matter what the consequences. Father believes in stability, rules, and structure but not love as an emotion. He would never run off to Maine to see someone he loved.

  “I love Connor.”

  There, it was out. She said it again, murmuring the words. She had fought it, denied it, and tried her best to let him go but she was unable to do any of those things. She loved him, and no matter how much it might hurt, she had to take the chance, or risk never knowing his love at all ever again. The coffee had grown cold but she drank it all any way before she began to pack for her trip.

  **

  Connor was sitting on the winter porch, a beautiful structure that featured built in heaters, enclosed walls and gorgeous green growing plants, when the taxi pulled to a halt. His heart slammed in his chest as he saw a scarlet coat and long legs easing out of the bright yellow car.

  He ran down the outside staircase and down the flagged walk, grabbing the suitcase, that Sandra was schlepping but not before he wrapped her into a hug.

  “It’s beautiful,” Sandra exclaimed as they walked along the sea wall toward the stairs. The ocean foamed and hissed, the rocks below gleamed and the mournful sound of foghorns blew across the hazed over distances.

  “It was built by a whaler’s captain. He had retired from the sea and moved here because he loved this coast so much.”

  “Did he build it for his wife?”

  “No. He raised goats and sheep but no kids or wife either for that matter. He did have a companion though, a man who had served on the whaler with him.”

  “Oh how scandalous.” Sandra teased.

  “It was, especially then. When he died, his companion kept it and when he passed away, it went to his sister and her children. Eventually it wound up empty and abandoned.”

  “So you bought it?”

  “Yes.” Connor paused before throwing the door wide open, watching her face carefully as she stepped inside.

  Her mouth dropped open and he smiled, pleased at her reaction. The hallway had been kept in its original state as much as possible. Long Persian rugs lay on the hardwood floors, their faded and gorgeous colors visible despite the dimness. Shelves with small objects that the original owner bought in ports across the globe hung about mingled with oil paintings of seascapes.

  The many windows, hung over the hall at an odd angle so that the sun did not just shine in, it came through diffused and softened, giving the hallway a radiant nimbus of light.

  The hallway was only the beginning though. The living room hosted a grand piano, several gorgeous sculptures, paintings, and leather furniture grouped around an enormous stone wall that had a fireplace carved out of its very center.

  Bedrooms lay off the hall behind the living room, as did a small cheerful library whose walls were bedecked with books. Everywhere Sandra looked was an understated but visible elegance. She relaxed, the warmth and charm of the huge old house soothing her in a way she would never have thought possible.

  Connor’s bedroom literally astonished her. The fifteen-foot high ceilings featured old oaken beams and the décor was masculine—more leather furniture, lots of earth tones and the occasional flash of red. Tall windows that opened onto a balcony overlooked the sea and the cliffs, the snow covered hills in the distance and the lofty pines.

  “I could live here forever,” Sandra said softly.

  Connor stood behind her so she did not see the joy that transformed his face at that comment.

  Desire Book 4: Love’s Desire

  Connor had never been so terrified in all his life. He had also never been so exhilarated. The wind did not ruffle his hair, and the shoreline did not slide away from them. The water smacked the bow and the wind slapped his cheeks while salt water crashed over the sides of the boat, soaking his canvas shoes and he shivered with the cold. The shore had become a thin crescent in the distance. He looked at it, and fear kicked back up a notch in his belly.

  Ice lay over much of the land, and a thick white mantle of snow. His housekeeper had announced that only a fool would sail in that weather, Sandra had shrugged it off. That had intrigued him; she was a risk taker who had no idea she was one.

  Sandra seemed totally at ease out on the water, despite his dour exaggerated predictions that they would hit an iceberg or be hit by a whale. Her cheeks and forehead bore the bright stamp of the wind and the cold, her hair streamed back from her face, and her bottom lip was caught in her teeth.

  The sail caught the wind, flapped, and they shot off again with her hands steady as she guided them through the water. Connor wore a life jacket but the thought of falling into the churning blue gray depths was still enough to make him have to turn his head up towards the sky.

  The sky did not make him feel any better. Fat clouds bore dark-tinted edges and the dome of the heavens was leaden. It felt like snow and he knew that they needed to get off the water before that happened but she did not seem concerned.

  He was used to being the one in control, sitting back and letting things happen was not really his style. When Sandra had asked him why he had bought a house so close to the sea and never took advantage of its pleasures he had reminded her that he could not swim.

  “I can admire the scenery, though,” he had joked.

  Her dark brown eyes had narrowed in thought and before he could really understand half of what she was saying they had wound up taking out a small sailboat she had procured from a place that rented them on the outskirts of the town.

  It was a slim and swift little vessel. Sandra had gone on and on about cleats, and sails and booms, he had just put on the life jacket and hoped he made it through the afternoon. It had not taken long for the strong emotions still passing through him to take hold however. He had never seen the sea or his home from that angle, and he stared at its walls and the windows as she guided them
to the long boat launch that had sat empty out there for so long.

  There were things that had to be done to ready the boat for the night. He helped as much as he could; amused by the way she just casually tossed off orders at him. She would pay for that later, he had no doubt. He was enjoying contemplating exactly how he would.

  When she bent over to do some mysterious thing her ass cheeks turned up, her jeans cupping the peach like halves. The seam of her jeans neatly bisected that ripeness, laid a trail over the wet depths that lay snuggled between her thighs, his eyes lit up as he hit on something and when she turned around to see him looking at her with that devilish light in his eyes her face went even more scarlet.

  Sandra knew he was cooking up something deliciously nasty, it showed on his face. A little shiver that was not from cold went down her spine and warmth spread through her lower belly.

  She asked, “How did you like the sail?”

  “It was wonderful.” He spoke with sincerity. “I never realized what I was missing until now. As we were pulling back to shore I saw the house from the water, and I was just thinking how the man who built this place must have seen it that way so often. He must be happy that someone who appreciates the sea is finally in the house.”

  The words made her smile. “I am so glad you liked it.”

  “I wish it had been warmer.” He gave a long and highly dramatic shiver, making her laugh. Her laughter cut off when he gathered her in his arms and crushed her mouth with his own.

  When she could speak again she whispered, “I know a way to get you warm.”

  “I’ll bet you do.” He gave her a playful swat on the bottom. “If we are done here let’s go inside.”

  The snow had fallen again during the night, their feet sank into the drifts, and Sandra was weary long before they battled their way up the slippery stairs and into the sheltering warmth of the house. She had needed the exercise more than she had realized, they had spent the last two days huddled before the roaring fire in the library, laughing and playing cards and making love on the soft rugs. It had been a magical and happy time but coming out into the crisp clean air and cold had shaken the cobwebs out of her mind bringing her back to reality.

  The reality was Christmas break was almost over and it was obvious to both of them they were in love. It was equally obvious he wanted her in Maine with him and while she was not totally sold on the idea she no longer feared it so much either.

  That made a long held doubt surface again. How could people be a couple if they got bored after just a few days? How did a couple keep the spark going? Could she work that hard? She was sure it was hard work that kept it alive, that and a natural passion—which they undoubtedly had. Did she have the ability to stick it out?

  Her mother had not had that ability, what if her footloose wanderlust had been transferred to her daughter. What if she decided to have a child with Connor then got bored and left?

  Nobody is talking marriage; she chided herself as they made it into the glowing warmth of the back hallway.

  Connor’s housekeeper Lois, a stern faced lifelong resident of Maine, met them with the announcement there was ‘plenty of hot stuff’ in the kitchen’, a proclamation that triggered a memory and a few giggles as they walked into the rustic white walled room.

  Lois had made them fragrant tea, coffee, and an immense and delectable chicken potpie. Sandra was starving and she dug in, as did Connor. They talked as they ate both of them aware of the growing hunger within them, a hunger that could not be assuaged by mere food.

  They took their time, letting the pleasurable tension spin out between them. Sandra watched Connor; his hair was mussed and windblown from the sail. His blue eyes snapped with light and energy and his fingers stroked his coffee cup, seeking warmth from the heavy ceramic and its contents.

  Her eyes kept going to those long fingers, she watched, mesmerized; those little caresses on the mug. She knew what those little strokes felt like on her body and she had to take long deep breaths to control her heart beat as he lifted the cup to his full and sensual mouth and took a long slow sip, his eyes meeting hers over the rim.

  “There is something I want you to see.”

  The words made her nipples, already taut from the severe cold, tighten even more. They rubbed painfully against the cotton of her bra. “What is it?”

  His face was deliberately expressionless. “You will see. Are you finished eating?”

  “Yes, I will just clear the table since Lois has already gone.”

  “Leave it. This is more important.”

  A little shiver crept down her spine. Sensing he wanted her eager and anticipating she cocked an eyebrow at him. “Is it?”

  A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yes. Follow me.”

  She did. They went to a door she had never noticed before; it was hidden in a corner of the kitchen and blended in with the wall below the overhanging built-in shelf so well she never would have thought to look at it twice. He opened the door and clicked on a light to reveal a long and dim staircase.

  It was spooky. Sandra had an instant dose of nerves, the door and the stairs were so stereotypical of every horror movie that had frightened her as a teenager that she stood stock still, unable as well as unwilling to go down it.

  Connor said, “Now Sandra,” and her feet lifted. Her hand came down on the railing and she stared around, the expected cobwebs and dimness were not there. The stairs were steep certainly but the lights burned brightly and the area was clean.

  She could see the floor below; it was plain gray concrete, covered by a narrow strip of utilitarian brown indoor/outdoor carpeting. The air was not exactly fresh but neither was it filled with the dank odor of mildew. She could hear the faint drone of a dehumidifier as she followed him down into the basement’s lower reaches.

  The large main room opened up, revealing a series of smaller rooms. Some were obviously used for storage but they appeared to be well kept and ordered. Connor paused in front one door locked with a heavy steel padlock. The metal gleamed dully and the door opened with a slight screech that made Sandra swallow nervously.

  Connor flicked on a light and stepped inside, she followed, not sure of what to expect. What she saw made a tingle of sexual longing and a sense of rightness fill her. The room itself was just a room, a bed lay in the center of it and a nightstand stood beside that. On one wall, a plain two-by-four had been mounted and on it little metal loops had been affixed. From those loops hung an amazing array of clams and instruments, some she could not even guess at others, like the whip and floggers, she knew by sight but not touch. Despite the austerity of the room it gave off a power, an energy that made her belly suck in with anticipation.

  The black silk sheets that covered the bed were pulled tight, the corners tucked in. The bedposts were plain oak. The cuffs that hung from them were as solid and unbreakable as the padlock on the door.

  Connor turned to her and his face hovered a mere inch above hers as he asked, “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.” She did but it was not just that, her body was awash in feelings she had never known existed. Her throat was tight and her nipples ached for his touch. The cleft between her thighs was soaked; the fluids soaked into her pubic hair and tangled it wildly.

  He stripped her bare. A slight draft blew from some small chink in the wall. The bare concrete below her feet made her toes curl from cold and her legs shook as he ran a finger slowly and calculatingly along her collarbones.

  The blindfold was soft but the dark it brought with it was not. A faint glimmer of light shone below the lower edge and Sandra stared at it, focused on it to keep her dread at bay. The touch of his hand on the fleshy globe of her ass made her flinch at first, she had expected him to spank her but he did not, he squeezed and then kneaded that skin and the muscles below.

  She could feel the soreness in her body easing as his strong fingers worked the knots from her other buttock, her neck and shoulders and arms. Her eyes, behind the blindfold, flutte
red closed and a blissful sigh escaped her lips.

  “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” his breath blew across her cheek and then his hands twisted her arms cruelly up and behind her back. Startled she stepped forward but his hands held her fast.

  He marched her to the bed, his legs knocking into the back of hers, driving her forward. Stunned, and more turned on than she had ever been, Sandra staggered and stumbled across the floor. She had to trust him not to let her body fall to the rough concrete below.

  Her breath caught in her throat as her knees hit the bed, and she fell face forward onto it. His hands ran down her back then his nails scratched at her skin lightly, sending blood rushing to the surface and making her nerves jump and run below her flesh. He turned her over and she lay on the bed on her back.

  Sandra surrendered to the pleasure rolling through her. Connor’s clever fingers caressed her skin, his fingers pressed into her intimate places, and his mouth closed over one of her nipples.

  The gentle tug of his lips was replaced by his teeth and tongue. Slight pain arced into her at that rougher touch and she cried out, her fingers tangling into his coarse hair.

  He yanked her hands away, before she could even register what was happening the steel of one cuff clamped down tightly around one wrist.

  Panic caught her up. She twisted to one side but he pinned her to the mattress and forced her free hand up so that he could capture it as well. She fought, she knew it was Connor, and that he would not harm her but still she fought. His voice sounded in her ear as he asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No,” her voice quivered.

  “Unicorns.”

  That word was so unexpected and familiar that it, like the first time she heard him say it, burned into her mind. “What?”

  “That is your safe word. Say that word if you need to stop and I will stop. No is not a safe word, stop is not a safe word, use only the word I tell you to use. Now repeat it back to me.”